


Paradigm Shift

by SemaphoreRaven



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Action/Adventure, Dimension Hopping For Fun And Profit, the crossover nobody asked for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-06
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-23 10:42:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17681927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemaphoreRaven/pseuds/SemaphoreRaven
Summary: paradigm shift (pär.ə.dīm shĭft) n. - a radical change in underlying beliefs or theory.Or,In which the Outsider is a jerk, communication issues are resolved, a game of chess is played, some pirates have bad timing, and Corvo acquires a shotgun.





	Paradigm Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Dishonored Effect by Daradus over on ff.net. I started wondering how I would approach such a weird crossover and before I knew it, I had a few pages of notes and realized "I guess I'm writing this thing."

Everything had been going so well. With the pattern of his life, perhaps that should have been a warning in and of itself. Empress Emily Kaldwin had been on the throne for several years and had rapidly become the most beloved ruler the Empire of the Isles had ever had. Piero and Solokov's combined efforts had all but eradicated the Rat Plague, and streets that once housed only swarms of man-eating rats and the pitiful wrecks of plague victims were once again full of citizens going to about their daily life. Fear of the plague lifted and the seaports reopened. Trade between the islands was flourishing. There was even talk of a new expedition to colonize Pandyssia. And Corvo? He had his Emily. The girl he had singlehandedly turned the city upside down for, who he had schemed and infiltrated and deceived and killed for. With her safe, he was at peace.

And then the Outsider had showed up in his dreams for the first time in years and it all fell apart.

"Hello Corvo," the black-eyed god said, his voice silky and arrogant and turning Corvo's blood to ice.

_Not now. By the sea and stars, not now._

"It's been a while, hasn't it?" the entity continued. "How well you've done for yourself. The golden age of an empire, coming into reality at last. And you the one responsible for bringing it to fruition. It is a state of affairs that is," a pause for a sigh, low and regretful, "so terribly boring."

The ice in Corvo's blood spread further, leaving him feeling impossibly cold.

The Outsider, as usual, either didn't notice Corvo's rigid tension or didn't care. "I gave you my Mark because you are _fascinating_ , my dear Corvo. Yet in this time of peace, I cannot help but feel that your potential is wasted." He cocked his head to the side, looking pleased with himself. "So with this in mind, I have decided to do something about that."

The ice in Corvo's veins morphed into white-hot rage. He  threw himself forward to grab the smug bastard by his lapels and tell him that if he dare even _think_ about harming Emily, then god of the Void or no, Corvo would _end him_ , but the Outsider had avoided his movement easily and continued speaking as if there had been no interruption at all. "Have fun now, Corvo," he had concluded, his face full of amused arrogance, "Don't disappoint me."

And with those parting words still echoing in his ears, Corvo woke up under an unfamiliar sky.

 

His first action, after confirming that he was not in immediate danger, was to make an inventory of what the Outsider had left him with. He hadn't gone to sleep armed or in uniform, yet here he was, equipped like he had just departed the Hound Pits Pub for one of Havelock's missions. Mask, crossbow, folding blade, sleep darts, grenades, spring razors, bone charms, a handful of remedies and elixirs. And the Heart, still hidden in its customary spot inside his coat. He paused for a moment, eyes closed and hand wrapped tightly around the only thing he had left of Jessamine as if it were a holy relic. Then he straightened, withdrew his hand from his coat, and took his first proper look at where the Outsider had left him.

_Cold. Desolate. Lifeless._ The last part wasn't completely accurate, as he took in the colorless lichen-like growths that dotted the rocky landscape and scattered boulders like spots of mold, but there had been a more colorful and thriving ecosystem in the dungeons of Coldridge Prison than there was here. The sky above him was the sickly purple of a day-old bruise and dominated by a huge orb striped in shades of orange and yellow that seemed to take up half the sky. The sun itself, too small and too red, seemed like an afterthought. And, as he was rapidly realizing, the air was much too thin for comfort and left him with a sensation like being high in the mountains after spending weeks by the sea.

It was like nothing he'd ever seen before. It was like nothing he'd ever _heard_ of before. Just where the hell had he found himself?

He ruthlessly suppressed the panic he felt starting to rise in his chest. Panic accomplished nothing.

After a few deep breaths of too-thin air, he took a closer look around and found that the landscape was not quite as desolate as he had first thought. He could make out a manmade structure in the distance, its walls the same slate grey as the ground but the right angles and flat surfaces a sharp contrast to the landscape with its natural dips and curves. Though it didn't seem more than a story tall, the sheer area it covered meant it was larger than any building he had seen in his life. A quick sweep with the mask's telescopic lens further revealed a handful of figures clustered around one of the larger natural growths perhaps a hundred meters from the structure. Probably the best place to start, then.

Corvo took care that his approach was silent and unnoticed, the better to observe the strangers. The landscape offered ample hiding places with its boulders and alcoves, but there was too much opportunity for shifting rubble to give him away. In the end, he settled for blinking from hiding spot to hiding spot, minimizing his physical movements while growing steadily closer. As the distance between him and his targets decreased, he studied them more closely. One man and two women, all three in drab-colored clothing and odd helmets that completely covered their heads. None of them appeared to be armed. Both their voices and body language were relaxed as they collected samples of the pseudo-lichen into glass vials. He wasn't close enough to make out words, not yet, but there was no mistaking the occasional bark of laughter carrying in the air.

Another blink to behind a conveniently placed rock brought him within earshot. While he could make out the individual voices now, well enough to know there were two women and one man in the group, he didn't recognize the language they were speaking. _Damn_. But eavesdropping wasn't his only way to gather information, and a moment's concentration summoned the Heart to his hand. The stranger's conversation faded to a soft murmur as its voice, mournful and so achingly familiar, whispered their secrets to him.

"He brought his entire family, hoping to mend the cracks between them.  Such foolishness."

"She hates it here."

"She obtained her position by stealing another's work years ago. It haunts her still."

The heart continued on as Corvo sifted through the words, separating useful information from the usual blend of cryptic statements and disconcertingly intimate insights. It always made hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the way the Heart could lay a person bare, but that never stopped him from using it to his advantage. The portrait the Heart painted was of three civilians, no blood on their hands, far from home and guilty only of the same petty evils he'd seen everywhere.

That information in hand, he considered his options. Even with the Heart's insights, he doubted there was much to be gained from staying here to listen in on a conversation he couldn't understand.  He could ignore the group and building entirely in favor of further exploring the surrounding area. Corvo discarded that idea quickly; people meant food and supplies, both of which he'd need soon enough, and he was already short of breath enough without the added exertion of exploration.

That left infiltrating the building as the best choice. He could sneak in, look for documents, glean what he could from the environment. But while he was well-practiced in stealth, he wasn't invisible and there was always the slim chance of discovery. Back during the mess in Dunwall, he had already been labeled an enemy of the state and thus had nothing to lose in being where he shouldn't be. When he had had to silence the rare guard unlucky enough to spot him, well, the guard was already trying to kill him and Corvo hadn't lost sleep over the act. But these were civilians he had no quarrel with, and if the people inside the building were the same they didn't deserve a blade across the throat and a dissolve into ash. All he would be doing was making an unnecessary enemy and spilling innocent blood. Unacceptable.

That left his least favorite option.

The people began packing up their samples and heading towards the building. _Time to make a decision, then._

Corvo tucked his mask into his coat and gathered his resolve. What he was about to do ran counter to everything he was good at, to everything his instincts were screaming at him to do. He cursed himself for a stupid fool even as he knew it was the best course of action available to him, and it was with reluctance that he finally willed himself into action and kicked at the rubble by his feet. The clattering of rocks was unnaturally loud in his ears.

The noise caused the three civilians to turn around, looks of confusion on their face (but mercifully no weapons drawn.) Still, best to be cautious, so he prepared to stop time at a moment's notice as he stepped out from behind the rock and into plain view.

The strangers stared at him as if he were a Pandyssian Bull Rat that had had tripled in size and grown a second head.

No one said anything for several long seconds before Corvo, again with reluctance, broke the silence. Six months of Coldridge hospitality had left his voice a quiet rasp. Nevertheless, his voice carried easily in the thin cool air. "Do you speak Gristolan?"

One of the women, the shortest of the group and both dark-skinned and dark-haired under the helmet, frowned and responded in the unfamiliar language they had spoken before. Though the words themselves were mystery, they unmistakably formed a question.

"I don't speak your language," Corvo tried again. "I am lost and would like to know where I now find myself. I repeat: do you speak Gristolan?"

There was a pause, then the second woman (fair-skinned as any native of the Isles) broke into laughter that seemed to him both disbelieving and more than a touch hysterical. It curtailed quickly, but whatever the woman emphatically told Corvo before nearly dissolving into another laughing fit was enough to earn her a stern look from the dark-haired woman. Once the second woman was done making a scene, the dark-haired woman turned back to Corvo and asked another question.

"I don't speak your language," Corvo repeated.

Her frown deepened. She turned to her companions and they quickly fell into energetic discussion. Corvo watched in silence, patiently waiting for them to come to some sort of decision. It went on long enough that he was wondering if he was going to be forced to interrupt and try communicating in charades. That train of thought was quick to derail when the dark-haired woman made a casual gesture over her left arm and a gauntlet of orange light enveloped her left arm. Her fingers moved rapidly across the back of the gauntlet, doing Void knows what, pausing only to glance at Corvo again. She asked him another question, fingers pausing briefly, to which Corvo responded by repeating his apology with a shake of his head. She gestured to her gauntlet, then to him, a question in her eyes. Corvo looked at the gauntlet, bright and translucent and utterly unfamiliar, and met her gaze with incomprehension. That must have answered her question one way or another, as the fingers briefly resumed their dance before she began speaking to thin air. After a moment, another voice spoke _back_ from the gauntlet.

Corvo watched it all with a carefully blank expression. Just what were these gauntlets of light? Some combination of Solokov's electricity experiments and a small loudspeaker system? He didn't pretend to know anything about how the man's inventions worked, but whatever the gauntlet was, it looked nothing like Solokov's bulky metal contraptions.

While the dark-haired woman - clearly the leader of the group - carried on conversing with the voice coming from the glowing device on her arm, her two compatriots remained silent. The fair-skinned woman kept shifting her weight nervously and exchanging glances with the third civilian, who in turn was fiddling anxiously with an empty glass vial. This continued long enough that the leader paused her conversation, gave a long sigh that needed no translation, and barked something at each of them in turn that made them turn bright red and summon their own light gauntlets.

The man took a few steps towards Corvo, putting his hands up in a clear gesture of peace and speaking slowly and clearly as if that would somehow tear down the language barrier. Corvo tensed inwardly as the man raised the tool and waved it in front of him, ready to act if it turned out to be a weapon, but all that happened was the gauntlet made some faint noises and the man stepped back before peering down at his gauntlet like the others. This close, Corvo could see that some of the orange light formed symbols on the flat surface on gauntlet's top, shifting and changing even as he watched. Some form of writing? _How strange._

While strange it might be, he didn't sense any hostility. Confusion, curiosity, and fear, yes, but not hostility. He did feel distinctly left out of the conversation as he watched their  flurry of activity, but he had a feeling that it was to his advantage to wait and let them conclude their business. And patience was something he had in spades.

After several minutes of waiting, the door to the building opened (a sliding door, Corvo noticed) and three more men stepped out. Two of them were armed, guns holstered at their sides, and they carried themselves like they knew how to use them. Yet while their guns were familiar enough in shape for Corvo to recognize them, they were at least half again as large as his own pistol and he couldn't see a splinter of wood in their metal construction. The third carried a hand-sized bundle of what have been cloth and might have been metal as well as something small and clear that refracted the light like water.

He eyed them with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion, though his expression remained as impassive as he could make it. The newcomers were also trying for impassivity, but he had a feeling they were as bewildered as the three civilians and Corvo himself and that the guns were mostly for show. That was a relief.

Everyone was so busy eying each other that Corvo nearly missed the dark-haired woman addressing him  again. He only caught the tail end of her words, but it was enough for him to realize with a jolt that he knew some of them. She repeated herself, more slowly this time and clearly reading from the gauntlet on her arm, and it clicked. She had said "this will translate for you." In Gristolan.  Atrociously accented Gristolan, granted, but definitely Gristolan. Her eyes remained glued to the glowing words in front of her as she continued with another string of familiar syllables. It took two repetitions before the accented words resolved into "It is a translation tool. Completely safe."

He nodded his understanding and then cocked his head slightly, looking from the metal-fabric bundle to their leader and making what he hoped was the universal circling hand gesture for "do go on."

Luckily, the gesture seemed to have the desired effect as the leader made a few more taps on her light gauntlet before something pale materialized on her arm. She met Corvo's gaze, gestured between the orange light and the paleness below, then with a single motion, made the light disappear. Without the gauntlet around her hand, he could see that the paleness beneath was an armband or wristguard of some sort - perhaps half a foot long, spanning from wrist to elbow - and bearing a distinct resemblance to the bundle of fabric being held by one of the newcomers.

So that was the source of the light gauntlet. She must have been wearing it from the start, but how had it been blending in with her clothes? Once, during the long voyage from Dabokva to Dunwall, one of the sailors had regaled the Empress and her entourage with tales of a Pandyssian reptile once that could change the color of its hide to vanish into its surroundings. Corvo had listened with more than a little incredulity at the time, ready to dismiss it as a tale told to entertain and nothing more, but perhaps there had been something to it.

And now the man with the fabric bundle was holding it out to him. Interesting. He had been hoping to get his hands on one of those to pass on to Piero, so if they were freely giving one to him, so much the better. But what strings were attached? Warily, he took the armband and slid it over his left hand. It was cool to the touch and lighter than it looked, and as he watched, the grey surface rippled and changed color to match the skin tone underneath. It looked like he was wearing nothing at all, though when he ran the fingers of his other hand over it, they still felt the cool, smooth surface of the metallic fabric.

Now the man was offering the clear little device. He glanced at the leader, who removed its double from her ear with a smooth motion. She pulled up the orange gauntlet again and spent a few moments tapping away before she slowly read aloud, "Speaker. It lets you hear the translation."

Ah. He took the clear device and, after a few fumbles and a demonstration, managed to get it placed.

The woman spoke again. "Can you understand me now?"

It was a strange doubling effect. On one hand, he had heard the woman speak in that first incomprehensible language. But on the other, his left ear heard the same voice speaking in lightly accented Gristolan that didn't match her lips at all.

"...yes." He pushed the thousands of questions to the back of his mind to focus on the one that mattered most.  "Could you tell me where I am?"

 

_I've gone completely mad. That's the only rational explanation._

Corvo stared blankly at the steel wall opposite him, finally letting the calm and self-assured front he had been presenting fall now that there was nobody left to observe him.

They had moved inside the building shortly after Corvo had been given one of the orange gauntlets ("omni-tool", they had called it an "omni-tool") and Corvo had had his first experience with what he would later learn was an airlock and decontamination chamber. The door had locked behind the group, the otherwise empty room had lit up with an array of flashing lights, and there had been the strangest sensation of air both leaving and being pumped in while a disembodied female voice droned dispassionately about foreign contaminants. By the time the door to the interior of the facility slid open, the air had a slightly metallic tang  and Corvo gratefully found himself able to breathe easier.

He had gotten the impression of a corridors upon corridors of shining metal and numerous curious faces that were quickly shooed away before arriving at what Corvo instantly pegged as a holding room for troublesome individuals. It was too sparsely furnished, too isolated from those curious faces, had too few ways in and out. Yet at the same time it was scrupulously clean and lacked both the restraints and torture implements that had always been present at Coldridge. So, still wary but confident of the facility's inability to hold him, he had sat down in the offered chair while three more strangers (security, by the looks of them) took seats on the opposite side of the bare metal table.

What followed was the most surreal interrogation of his life.

Asking who he was and how he had wound up here were familiar enough territory. He was so obviously far from home that he had no reason not to tell the truth, though caution necessitated leaving out the Outsider and simply saying he had been knocked out, shanghaied, and woken up here. And sure enough, these people didn't recognize Gristol or the Empire of Isles or even Pandyssia. Where the hell could he be that these people didn't know of the foremost country in the known world? And the names they gave back in response meant nothing to him. "Cyrene", "Idmon System," "Titan Nebula."

It wasn't until they began explaining something called the "Systems Alliance" and Corvo had to ask for the definition of the word "interplanetary" that a niggling suspicion began to form. The interviewers had become possibly more confused than he was as they explained in increasingly simplified terms what was obviously both common knowledge and absolutely impossible.

He was on a moon.

A moon.

A _moon._   

No wonder one of them had laughed when he had said he was lost.

 The interview had ended soon after that. Corvo had tried to maintain a facade of calm unflappability, but like a cog stuck in a piece of complex machinery, all of the information he was trying to process had brought his thought processes to a grinding halt. It was all that he could do to answer with a distracted "What?" or "Could you repeat that?" until the interviewers had awkwardly left, presumably to let him put himself back together. In most any other situation, he would have been embarrassed. Here and now, he was only grateful.

Corvo had always been distantly aware of space, how men with telescopes theorized the stars were suns an unimaginable distance away and that might be circled by worlds of their own. Interesting, but with so little bearing on day-to-day affairs that Corvo considered it the type of useless trivia people tended to drop during cocktail parties to sound worldly and intelligent. Being thrown headfirst into that bit of useless trivia was resulting in a shift in worldview he wasn't fully processing. His thoughts were a whirl of unanswered questions. How had he ended up on a _moon_? How did you even _get_ to a moon? And not the even the moon that hung over the Empire, but another moon, over another world?

_How?_

_What?_

_...how!?_

But while most of his brain was stuck in an unhelpful monosyllabic loop or focused on the horrible fact that he was further from home than he had ever thought possible, a small voice in the back of his head whispered, "But we know where we are. And that is the first step in planning how to get back."

It wasn't much. There were so many unanswered questions, so many gaps in his knowledge, so many steps between him and home that he couldn't possibly begin to count them. But a drowning man will cling to a piece of half-rotten driftwood if it is capable of keeping him afloat. And so, clinging to that one scrap of hope,  the Royal Protector sat in silence and slowly began to piece his world back together.

 

Several rooms over in Security Headquarters, Dr. Amalia Farichin pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. Her plan for the day had been simple. Collect samples, head to the lab, and continue her thorough analysis of native flora. "Deal With Someone's Harebrained Idea Of A Practical Joke" had not been on that list.

That no one was fessing up was not helping her mood at all.

"...maybe he's telling the truth?" Peter Kierke ventured nervously as he watched the live feed from Interrogation Room #1. Farichin opened an eye to level a half-hearted glare at her assistant. Kierke was an accomplished exo-botanist and a vital part of her research team, but _god_ did he need to keep his mouth shut sometimes. _Someone_ was going to have to say it out loud, but of course it would be Kierke. "Nobody here's stupid enough to do this for a joke," he continued. "It's too easy to end up dead."

While Kierke might underestimate the human race's capacity for pants-on-head stupidity, Farichin understood where he was coming from. Cyrene was an...interesting colony. The godforsaken little moon with an erratic orbit had been deemed "best suited" for the Alliance's transit station to the rest of the Terminus systems, but it was far from a garden world. Underground volcanic activity had created an oxygen atmosphere, true, but the actual oxygen content was low and even if a person could adjust to _that,_ other volcanic gases meant that long-term exposure was lethal. In addition, the moon's erratic orbit meant that surface temperatures only rose above -200°C for a handful of continuous hours once every Terran month.  For Farichin, this just meant you didn't go outside without an air supply and there was only a small window when she and her assistants could collect samples without begging Engineering for the bulky insulated suits. But for someone being dropped on the surface with no air supply or insulation...? The timing would have had to be perfect. And that wasn't even taking into account how a ship would have had to bring their visitor through a system infested with Batarian pirates to deliver their "guest" in the first place.

Kierke was right. No one was stupid enough to pull this as a prank. But it was easier to think of it that way than to consider the alternatives.

It would have been easier if their visitor _hadn't_   walked out of a historical action-adventure holo-vid, complete with gunpowder-and-steel weapons and speaking some bizarre variation on an ancient English dialect no one had spoken in centuries. (Farichin was convinced someone had programmed it into the translation program as a joke. Legend had it that Elvish had been the third human language added, after Chinese and English. She was inclined to believe it.) His obvious ignorance of...well... _everything_ wasn't helping.

She glanced at the security feed from the holding room currently housing "Corvo Attano", as he had introduced himself. The man was still seated at the table, chin resting in one palm and gaze pointed slightly downwards at nothing at all. Some people looked deeply contemplative in that pose. The stranger just looked lost. It was such a marked contrast to the careful nonexpression he had been wearing during the interview that she wondered if he was even aware there were cameras still watching him. Then again, who knew if he even knew what a camera was.

The room around her buzzed with conversation, theories flying fast and wild of ransoms gone wrong, forgotten human colonies, and convoluted Batarian tricks. But while the civilians in the room continued their energetic  debate, she could hear the Security staff having a very different conversation.  They understood one very important fact that most of the civilians were currently overlooking: that the _how_ the colony had acquired a living, breathing conundrum was not as useful as figuring out what it _meant_ for everyone involved _._

What type of threat did he represent? Right now, he was just a man in an interrogation room. Even if he decided to mount a one-man assault, the room easily doubled as a holding cell. They could just seal off the room and wait for Alliance troops to come deal with it. It helped that he was currently unarmed. The engineers had taken the time to jailbreak the omni-tool and disable more troublesome features like the blade and fabrication capabilities before handing it off to him, thank god, and while he had been obviously reticent to part with his weapons, he had surrendered the small armory he had been carrying without incident. Farichin had not been alone in her initial assumption that they were replicas like the ones they used in historical dramas, so she wasn't the only one surprised when the items ended up being heavy, sharp, and very, very, real. While their design and construction were laughably outdated and they would be near useless against modern armor, the man's weapons would still be just as deadly against an unarmored opponent as they had been centuries ago.

It didn't help that the man held himself in such a way that, in the words of the security officers, "he makes me feel like I'm missing something obvious that'll come back and bite us in the ass."

The more important question was whether or not he was part of some greater threat. The idea that he was some sort of spy had been dismissed almost immediately as ridiculous. The more likely theory was that someone had planted him to sow confusion before a coordinated attack. Everyone in Security Headquarters was certainly confused enough at the moment and doubtless rumors of their visitor were already spreading throughout the rest of the colony. All they could do in that case was make sure that confusion impacted them as little as possible. The average colonist may distracted from daily activities by the time-honored tradition of gossip and speculation, but Security would be on high alert. Equipment would be checked and double checked, data on recent attacks in the System would be compiled, and Communications was even now keeping their ears open for the first sign of an approaching ship.

Farichin was pulled from her thoughts by a pointed shift in the room's activity. Carter, the bearded Security officer who had been leading the interview, had gathered his small team and was holding a quiet conversation as they headed in the direction of the interrogation room. Time to resume talking to their mystery guest, then.

"Peter?" She asked without much hope. "Any chance of getting those compound analyses run today?"

"Not a chance in hell, Amalia."

 

Time was an odd thing on Cyrene. Because the sun appeared at such brief and distant intervals, colonists measured days in numerical displays and the cycling of overhead lights. It gave Corvo the dreamlike impression that time wasn't passing at all. The long periods of darkness reminded him uncomfortably of his time in Coldridge, of trying to measure days by how often he was fed and by comparing when he was last beaten to how his wounds were healing. The colony may have been worlds away from Dunwall's infamous prison, but he found himself checking the time on his omni-tool (yet another function of the strange device) more often than was probably necessary. Being able to track the passage of time with precision was...grounding.

His most recent check showed that it had been two weeks since the Outsider had unceremoniously dumped him here. Unfortunately, time had brought him no closer to understanding why he was here in the first place. The Outsider was adamant that his Mark were given with no strings attached, to do with as the bearer saw fit. So why the hell had he interfered this time? The entity hadn't deigned to appear again in his dreams, which Corvo viewed as a mixed blessing. He would be perfectly happy to never see the Outsider again, but at the same time, the entity was probably Corvo's only way home and it was difficult to get answers from someone he had no contact with. It also made it difficult to properly strangle the black-eyed bastard.

How had the Empire fared over the past two weeks? Was Emily still safe?  The Empire had been relatively stable position two weeks ago and Emily herself was an intelligent young woman surrounded by dedicated people he himself had vetted. Common sense said she was fine. But Corvo knew better than most what a fickle bitch fate could be, particularly when the Outsider was involved, and so he worried. All he could do about it was channel all of that nervous energy into learning all he could about his new surroundings.

The results had been both illuminating and endlessly frustrating. He'd made the right decision in approaching the colonists in that he was alive and never got the sense that he was in any real danger, but being in any form of custody still rankled him. Not that he could blame them. He wouldn't trust himself if their situations had been reversed either. But even if he were allowed to roam freely , there was nowhere he could go. This was the moon's only settlement and he hadn't the slightest clue how to operate one of the colony's few ships that could travel to another planet. (One of the colonists he _did_ have regular contact with, a technician named Neets, had helped him look up images of these on his omni-tool. He had nearly cried with laughter when Corvo was surprised by the lack of masts.) So for now, he was well and truly stuck.

At the same time, he was far from bored. Cyrene's security team  may have been asking the same questions over and over with slight variations in wording, but there were a handful of non-Security personnel cleared to see him that changed the script a bit. Neets, for one. The enthusiastic little man had accepted Corvo's ignorance with a nonchalance that was a relief after days of disbelieving stares. It was Neets who had shown him that his omni-tool had access to an _entire library_ of information about this strange new place. If he wanted to know more about something, and there was no lack of somethings he wanted to know more about right now, he only had to type it in and then it would pull up more data on it than he could possibly need. He was used to processing large amounts of information in his capacity as royal spymaster, but this gave new meaning to the phrase "information overload."

Nevertheless, between his conversations with the colonists and his own research, he had managed to come to an unhappy conclusion: as alien as this world was to him, everything he had ever known was equally unknown here. There were no records in their database on Gristol, or Serkonos, or the Empire of Isles. Nothing on the Abbey of the Everyman, or the Fugue Feast, or the War of Four Crowns. Not even whale oil, the substance upon which Dunwall's entire industry was _built._ When he worked up the courage to expand his search to the supernatural, the entries for the Void and the Outsider were equally blank.

That Cyrene, already full of mechanical marvels Corvo couldn't even begin to fathom, was proving to be even more and more impossible with each passing day was not helping. He had already known that he was on a moon, but now people apparently travelled regularly between worlds in massive mechanical vessels and there were nonhuman intelligent species from other planets. It was to the point where he was starting to accept any blatant impossibility as fact. He didn't know if he was ever going to be surprised by anything again after this whole mess was over. He had a feeling the protective mental shield of unreality wouldn't last forever, but for now, it gave him time to digest the never-ending onslaught of world-changing facts. He spent enough time staring at the wall as it was.

Small wonder the colonist's leading theories were that he was either lying or crazy.

So yes: illuminating and frustrating.

Much like the chess game with Neets was going right now. Illuminating in that the man was volunteering updates on Corvo's likely fate, frustrating in that he had just taken one of Corvo's knights. (Oddly enough, chess was one of the things identical in both of their worlds. Corvo had wondered briefly if that meant anything before deciding not to think about it too much.)

It turned out that beneath the shiny metal surface, a transit station for starships wasn't that different than those used for trains and coaches. Namely, it existed to  refuel,  repair, and restock transports. The colony itself couldn't spare any shuttles to transport Corvo off-colony and the Terminus system didn't have a higher government for them to appeal to for help, but they were hoping one of the transient vessels would be willing to take him on. They just didn't know when that hypothetical ship would arrive.

"It's been over a month since the last ship stopped by," Neets lamented. "A _month!_   I know we're not exactly on top of a mass relay or anything, but there've been times when we've had two dozen ships in the same timeframe!"

He sighed and slumped dramatically in his chair. Corvo ignored his theatrics and studied the board. This was apparently interpreted as a sign to continue. "It's what I miss about living in Citadel space. We can't just send them a vid and have you picked up before your hair goes grey. But Cyrene's not so bad, you know, once you get past the lack of natural light, the claustrophobia, and the atmosphere that's trying to actively kill you."

That earned a half-smile from Corvo as he avenged his knight by taking one of Neet's bishops. "Do you have any idea why there's such a delay?"

Neets shrugged. "Could be that no one is coming into the System right now. Politics, maybe? Word is the Citadel just appointed a human Spectre, that's bound to get things a little shaken up. Get things put on hold and all that."

Corvo nodded wisely and added Spectres to his ever-growing list of things to look up once Neets had left.

"The other big option...no one wants to think about it, but maybe pirates are getting to the ships before they get to us." The Royal Protector grimaced and Neets laughed good-naturedly. "Don't worry, I know you're not involved. But everyone else is allowed to be a bit suspicious, right?"

It was true the interrogations had been circling that particular theory more as of late, though the complete lack of evidence for Corvo's involvement meant the interrogators were blindly fishing at this point and knew it. Corvo suspected that Neets' presence was yet another approach with the hope that camaraderie would lower his guard enough that he would let something slip. That had bothered him less than he thought it would. Even if the technician was just part of some scheme, Corvo enjoyed the company. Corvo had enough practice holding his tongue that Neets wasn't going to pry anything from him that he wasn't going to offer willingly. It wasn't like he had the information the colonists wanted anyway.

...if he was feeling particularly charitable, he felt a little sorry for the security team. It wasn't that they were incompetent, but it was clear to anyone with eyes that they were more used to dealing with disorderly drunks than unraveling strange conspiracies.

All of this focus on pirates left Corvo curious as to what the colony's defenses were in the case of an actual attack, but didn't ask aloud. He'd tried the omni-tool's database, but he had learned quickly that what appeared to be a boundless wealth of information was not nearly as comprehensive as he had first thought. What he had initially seemed a grievous security leak turned out to be the rough equivalent of a pile of children's schoolbooks. Still useful to an outsider, but sadly lacking in colony blueprints and security protocols. His only clues were the doorways that fully sealed without locks or latches and the odd guns he had seen occasionally carried and never fired. His hands itched to try out those strange weapons, but again, he knew better than to ask. Maybe when he was off the moon.

And Neets had just moved a pawn. Corvo turned his attention back to the board, eyes sweeping  back and forth  as he considered his next move. he allowed himself a small smile as he moved a rook into position.'

"Check."

 

It was a bit of irony that when the attack finally did come a few days later, it was during yet another of Corvo's interrogations about a possible pirate attack.

There were three interviewers this time, the same that had interviewed him initially, and they had been having the same amount of success now as they had then. The air was thick with weary frustration and Corvo was internally rolling his eyes at the interrogation's constant circling when the call came over the intercom.

"Sensors are down. I repeat, sensors are down."

Even without the knowledge he'd gleaned from his stay, he would have known something was wrong by how all three colonists went stiff at those words.

"Shit," muttered one. A second (Carter, second in command of security, Corvo recalled) tapped into communications on his omni-tool and asked a terse "How much time?"

"Less than half an hour," came the grim reply.

" _Shit."_

The scene quickly exploded into motion. Carter was conferring with his boss and barking orders into his omni-tool while the others (Marrell and...Stoyevsky?) nervously double checked their weapons, no doubt waiting for orders for what the hell to do with their guest now that the session had gone off script.

Corvo glanced between three pairs of terrified eyes for several moments before it clicked. _This is the prelude to the attack they've been expecting._

_...so what happens now?_

"Marrell," Carter commanded, "Escort our guest to Storage. We're not going to leave him to die here."

Well, wasn't that kind of them. But the time for passive intelligence gathering was over and Corvo was done meekly following orders. And like _hell_ he was going to run and hide during an attack.

"Let me help." It wasn't a request. It was an order delivered with all of the gravitas of the Royal Protector, calm and authoritative and brooking no disobedience. The others paused and looked at him with confusion. He took advantage of the silence to press on. "I've told you repeatedly, I bear no affiliation to pirates of any sort. If I did, why would I be here? I know nothing about the colony's defenses or layout so I'm useless as a saboteur. I'm unarmed and unarmored, useless as an attacker or a distraction. You know better than I that I have no way of feeding them information. If they take the colony, I'm as much of a dead man as the rest of you. Put me where I can do the least damage, if you want. But let me help." By the Void, but he wished he had a glass of water. Speeches, even short ones, were hell on his damaged throat.

The silence stretched for a long moment before Carter nodded and met Corvo's gaze. "Storage was built with extra chambers to act as a sealable bunker in case of an attack. We have nearly five thousand people to evacuate and half the time we need. If you really want to help, you can help us try to buy everyone else some time." The sentence "And if you try anything we will not hesitate to shoot you down" hung in the air, unspoken but acknowledged by both parties. Still, it was a hell of a risk on their part. Was it his force of personality or their desperation that made them acquiesce so easily, or some combination of both?

That was a question that could be answered later. For now, he'd take what he could get, which was the return of his gear, a position at what was to be the front of the melee, and less than ten minutes before the estimated start of said melee.

From what Corvo was able to get out of his tentative allies, both the attack and defense were relatively simple. The pirates were likely to land in the loading docks, blast their way through the defenses into the colony proper, and strip the settlement of everything of value before fleeing back into space. (That made his initial assessment to Carter wrong, but didn't change his plans.) The defenders - the security team, a few colonists with military backgrounds, and a misplaced Royal Protector - would try to funnel the attackers into choke points near the docks and slow them down long enough for everyone else to get to safety. One team would be focused at the main choke point and focus on holding off the pirates while the second would seal off other methods of entry before rendezvousing with the first team. If everything went according to plan, the defenders would be the last ones into the bunker before it sealed to wait the pirates out. Judging from the expressions on his fellow defender's faces, they knew bullshit when they heard it. Yet he didn't hear a single murmur of complaint.

Corvo's respect for them went up a notch.

Right then. First, the pre-battle inventory. While it was comforting to once again have his pistol and blade, Carter had been cognizant enough to warn him they wouldn't do much against the invader's armor. That probably ruled out the grenades and spring razors as well. Corvo could work with that, at least to start. Even disregarding all of the abilities granted by the Mark, most armor was weak at the joints and a  pummel to the face would buy him a few seconds, at the very least. Still, upgrading his equipment would be priority. It would be a simple enough matter to possess an enemy and steal their weapon. He'd have to pay attention once the shooting started to get an idea of magazine size - being caught out empty with a gun he didn't know how to reload would be fatal.

Second, allies. The three security officers from the interrogation and another four Corvo didn't know.  Six civilian volunteers, their colorful assortment of armor and weapons a stark contrast to Security's grey-and-blue uniformity. The impromptu squad seemed reasonably disciplined and well equipped to Corvo's  eyes, but he wouldn't have the full measure of them as a fighting force until the shooting started. Given that, and his status as an outsider, he couldn't count on them to have his back if he got himself into trouble.

Third, battlefield assessment. The room a two-story affair, with two staircases in the back of the room leading to opposite ends of a large balcony with waist-high walls that overlooked the lower floor. There were only two entrances left unsealed: one at ground level coming from the docking bay, the other on the second story leading to the rest of the colony. The metal and plastic barricades the defenders had somehow hauled in were concentrated on the upper balcony, with the defenders spread out evenly behind cover and Corvo behind a barricade on the far right, and the lower level had natural cover in the form of the waist-high walls around four planters. The patches of greenery were several meters to a side and arranged so each formed the corner of a  rectangle. There was several meters from the door to either of the closest planters and even further between the planters individually. It was much sparser cover than the barricades provided, but the pirates would be sure to make use of it.

Fourth, enemy assessment. Numbers: unknown, likely between one and five hundred. Weapons: likely similar to his ally's guns, but of unknown effectiveness. Armor: unknown, but likely strong. With that many unknowns, he was going to have to play this part by ear a little more than he was comfortable with. And on that note, he wasn't getting around the necessity of the Mark in this fight. That meant there was one more thing he should probably take care of before this started.

"Deputy Carter." The man in question, positioned behind a nearby barricade, raised an eyebrow. "I have a few... unusual... abilities that I'll be using shortly. Please don't shoot me for it."

Any response was cut short by the sound of an explosion and screaming metal from the direction of the docking bay. Corvo's folding blade was ready in his hand as he watched the lower entryway, waiting for the first sign of movement from below.

He didn't have to wait long before the first three unlucky bastards came into view.

They were roughly man-shaped, wearing armor in muddied shades of brown and tan, and had all the good looks of a river krust. He'd seen similar figures on the omni-tool screen before and quickly put a name to them - batarians.  And that he was getting such a good view of their features meant that they were stupid enough to go into battle without helmets.

He could work with that.

Bullets flew from both sides as the batarians raced to duck behind the cover of greenery walls. One tried to run and shoot at the same time and fell almost immediately to a lucky shot, its head blossoming into a bloody flower of viscera. The other two managed to dive behind separate partitions before returning fire. Their guns fired at a speed and ferocity Corvo hadn't thought possible two weeks ago, but the defender's weapons were equally impressive. The pirates were pinned down, separated, and in no position to watch each other's backs.

Corvo knew an opening when he saw one.

His target had no warning. Corvo appeared behind him in a flash of light, shoving the alien's head forward to expose major arteries and blade slitting the throat in one smooth movement. Then he grabbed the gun and blinked back behind his barricade on the upper story before the body had hit the floor.

"What the hell kind of biotics was _that_?" asked one of the militia, both bewildered and more than a little impressed.

Biotics? He'd come across the word while researching, but had never read about it in detail. Yet another thing to add to the never ending list of things to look up. But if it was the reason he wasn't being shot at or being accused of heresy, he'd take it.

He gave the questioner a small smile in response, letting her read into it what she wanted, before he set about inspecting his purloined weapon.

It was a far cry from the familiar pistol. It was large enough to require two hands, with a short stocky barrel that reminded him of a blunderbuss. He hefted it experimentally, testing its weight and how it sat in his hands. He'd always preferred the portability of his pistols, but thank the sea and stars he'd at least fired a blunderbuss before.

He was about to open his mouth to ask about magazine size when the sound of footsteps  came from the direction of the docking bay. He couldn't guess how many pirates were approaching, only that it was a great number more than the unlucky three that had rushed ahead. As the first few pirates of the fresh wave came into view, he belatedly realized he had no idea how to reload the weapon either. He'd have to make every shot count.

It turned out figuring out the new gun was going to wait. The second group of pirates, a group of humans and batarians this time, was smarter than the first. Three of them threw grenades as soon as they were in range. Corvo responded without thought, summoning a windblast and sending the projectiles right back where they came from. There was just enough time to see the "oh fuck" expressions on the pirate's faces before the grenades detonated into three waves of overwhelming light and sound.

The pirates in the immediate blast zones had not, as Corvo had hoped, been turned into so much bloody carnage. In fact, besides looking dazed and unfocused,  they seemed relatively unharmed. This disappointment only lasted until he realized they were too stunned to dive for cover from the defender's gunfire. While the six or so pirates unaffected by the grenades had managed to get to relative safety since entering the room, only one of the seven stunned lived long enough to dive behind a planter.

Corvo took a moment to consider his options before he peeked his gun over the barricade and took aim at the nearest pirate. A blunderbuss wouldn't be much use at this range, but he'd seen enough impossible technology recently to guess that wouldn't be a problem for his new weapon. He waited with his shot lined up until the pirate appeared from behind the nearest planter.

Corvo's shot was too far to the left and hit the barricade, but he managed to duck back behind cover before the pirate was able to return fire. The recoil, accuracy, and bullet impact were definitely _not_ those of a blunderbuss. The memory came to him unbidden of a guardsman he'd once seen fire one of the unwieldy weapons without any instruction and had ended up flat on his back from recoil, mostly unharmed but with thoroughly damaged pride. Corvo's shot may have missed, but at least he hadn't ended up like _that._

As the gunfire continued around him and Corvo lined up a second shot, it struck him that he hadn't seen anyone reload their gun yet. The small part of  him that he'd been suppressing for weeks giggled hysterically and said of _course_ the guns didn't need reloading, nothing else followed logic here so why would their guns need something as banal as ammunition to work?

He pushed that impulse to the back of his mind. This was neither the time nor the place. He could laugh helplessly at the ridiculousness of everything when he wasn't fighting for his life.

Corvo's aim grew steadily more accurate as the defenders whittled down the second wave of pirates. While more shots hit the barracades than not, by the time the last of the pirates fell, he had scored two arm hits and a shoulder shot. Unfortunately, some of the pirate's shots had also met their mark. All of the defenders were still standing, but several were bloodied and one - the woman who had asked him about biotics - had been shot in the side with something that burned straight through her armor. Another of the militia was using their omni-tool to apply some sort of salve to the charred and bloody mess  and muttering something about medigel supplies. They were still at it when the third wave arrived, their entrance heralded by yet more gunfire and the glint of grenades in the air.

Another wind blast bounced back several grenades to their original owners, but there were enough flying now that, by luck or skill, two were too far to the left to have their course corrected by the burst of magic and landed behind the barricades, leaving five of the defenders clustered there dazed and defenseless. The unstunned pirates swarmed up the left set of stairs, using their numbers to try to overcome the hastily erected defenses. With almost half of the defenders temporarily out of commission, the pirates' odds of success was uncomfortably high.

Options flicked through Corvo's mind and were quickly discarded. He was too spiritually drained to stop time and cull their numbers with a few well-placed shots, which meant he was also too drained to throw them against the wall with another wind blast or possess one of the pirates at the front of the pack and physically impede their approach.

Well. Maneuverability always was his greatest ally. He could only pray that his bone charms would deflect enough of the bullets to keep him alive.

He waited until the last possible second, when the first pirate had reached the top and was leaning over the closest barricade to deliver a coup-de-gras, before blinking behind the man and shooting him in the head. The nearby pirates lost several seconds to shock, which Corvo used to deliver another point-blank headshot before diving behind the nearest barrier. He vaguely noted the dazed security officer beside him as he pulled out one of his grenades without thinking, yanking the pin and tossing it over before he realized what he was doing. He had just enough time to curse his action as useless before the nearby pirates dove for cover seconds before the grenade exploded. The old-fashioned explosion of gunpowder wasn't enough to even dent their armor, but at least it had bought a little time.

Corvo's adrenaline was pumping at full force as he pressed himself against the barricade, knowing that despite his distractions, it was mere seconds before his position was overrun. There hadn't even been enough time for him to recover the spirit to blink back to his original position on the other side of the balcony. He clutched his gun, mentally sent an apology to Emily, and prepared to make his last shots count. Maybe he had enough time to chug one of the elixirs...?

But as he swung around to make those last few shots, the officer beside him brought his gun to bear and was firing in great bursts at the pirates mere steps away. He wasn't alone. Several of the others who had been stunned were back in action, and with the pirates so close, it was hard for either side to miss. Corvo ducked low and took a moment to down an elixir before summoning another wind blast to throw the nearby pirates against the opposite wall. They impacted with a sickening crunch before sliding to the ground in a mass of blood and twisted limbs.

With the immediate threat disposed of, Corvo was finally able to take in the damage the force had done. The security officer next to him had slumped against the barricade, blood pooling beneath him from the holes that perforated his armor. If he weren't dead now, he would be soon. Marrell's body was sprawled behind another barricade, half of her face missing and the remaining eye staring sightlessly at the ceiling. A mercenary bleeding from a grazed temple was using her omni-tool to seal up another's heavily bleeding neck wound.  It was a low rate of casualties, all things considered, but it was still too many.

Corvo downed another elixir. He was going to go through them dangerously quickly at this rate, but he couldn't afford to be caught without his full capabilities again.

The battle raged on for what may have been minutes but felt like hours. Pirates continued falling in waves, their corpses piling up on the stairs and floor, but taking out the defense person by person. In the end, the defense was whittled down to four people desperately trying to hold back the seemingly endless horde. Carter had taken a bullet to the shoulder and was visibly wincing every time he fired his gun and the two surviving militia had taken so many glancing hits that it was impossible to tell if any of their injuries were serious or not. Corvo was faring little better. Piero's remedies had sealed the shots through his leg and arm, but he was still favoring his left side and bleeding from numerous grazes and shallow wounds.

It was then that a deep voice roared from the entrance to the docking bay. "CAN YOU IDIOTS NOT TAKE OUT A HANDFUL OF MEASLY HUMANS? FINE, I'LL DO IT MYSELF!"

The hulking hunchbacked brute that emerged  wasn't human or batarian. Corvo couldn't put a name to the species, but he recalled enough from his reading to know that it was extremely durable and extremely dangerous. From the other three defender's swearing, that assessment seemed to be correct. His armor was markedly different from that worn by the rest of the pirates and not just to accommodate the difference in frame - it was fancier, ornamented. Clearly this wasn't one of the rank-and-file.

The creature took a moment to look over the battlefield, a sneer on its scarred face, before a transparent blue field flickered into existence around its body and it charged with inhuman speed. Corvo had only a split second to react before the creature was up the stairs and upon him. The Mark flared and time stopped with the alien almost close enough to reach out and touch, its gun pointed directly at him and a bullet frozen en route to Corvo's chest.

There was only one thing to do in this situation.

Corvo put his gun against the creature's unprotected face and repeatedly pulled the trigger until the gun made a whining noise and stopped firing, then turned and blinked behind a far barricade before time returned in a rush.

 

As Dagrom Pak'roral huddled behind a planter and waited for his assault rifle to cool down, he wondered to himself how this day could get any worse. 

The plan had been simple: overcome the colonist's paltry defenses by throwing fresh meat at it until sheer numbers took them down. 

Dagrom had been with Voyax's Ravagers for six years. He hadn't been fresh meat in a long time. But the fresh meat was dead and Voyax had yelled at him to "get in there and murder those bastards", and he wasn't going to disobey the boss. So here he was, squished between his comrade's broken bodies, taking potshots at the four humans left and wondering how the hell the battle had gone so badly. 

Voyax yelling over the com wasn't helping.

"Have you useless sacks of shit killed them yet!?"

Dagrom fired another set of rounds, trying to hit the human in the blue coat that he was personally blaming for everything going wrong. None of his shots hit. With the way the day was going, he wasn't surprised.

"We're trying, boss," he bit out when he had ducked behind the planter again. 

"Well you're not trying HARD ENOUGH."

Dagrom bit back a number of responses and focused on his aim. 

The com went silent for a full minute, which Dagrom counted as the first good thing to happen all day. He rapidly revised his assessment when Voyax's next yelled statement came not through the electronic channel but from right behind him. 

 "CAN YOU IDIOTS NOT TAKE OUT A HANDFUL OF MEASLY HUMANS? FINE, I'LL DO IT MYSELF!"

As he watched the krogan charge up the stairs, biotic barrier shimmering and shotgun at the ready, he groaned inwardly and reflected that at least those last few humans were as good as dead. No matter what bullshit these humans had been pulling up to this point,  they weren't taking down a charging krogan battlemaster. Voyax was going to lord this over the crew for _years_.

Voyax reached the top of the stairs, aimed his shotgun at the human in blue -

The krogan's head exploded in bloody chunks.

The gunfire came to a brief halt as Voyax's body swayed and toppled to the ground. Everyone on both sides stared at the fallen pirate captain in shock.

... okay. The boss was dead. But they could salvage this. Only four humans left. They could kill four humans and then they could strip the station bare.  Less Ravagers meant larger shares of the loot, right? They could pull this off. They could take the six humans -

Wait. Nine -

Over a dozen -

Dagrom's brain stuttered for a moment before he recognized what he was seeing. Reinforcements, pouring in from the door behind the enemy barricades. Fully armed, uninjured reinforcements.

It took Dagrom less than a second to come to a conclusion.

_Fuck this._

By the time the message came over the com to retreat, Dagrom was already halfway back to the docking bay.

 

The defenders couldn't believe what had happened at first.

The pirates couldn't be running with their tails between their legs. This had to be some sort of trick, some part of some strategy the colonists couldn't see.  
They defenders couldn't have _won._

But no further attacks came. No further attacks came for so long that they finally risked sending a group to scope out the docking bay, and the group came back with the news that it was empty. The pirates were gone.

Several of the colonists, mostly members of the reinforcement team, cheered when they realized it was really over. Others, Corvo among them, were too worn out to join in as adrenaline left their systems and left their battered bodies to foot the bill. Corvo would have been happy to slump against a convenient barricade and sleep for a week. The colonists rudely disrupted his plan by hauling him and the other wounded to what his exhausted mind still recognized as a hospital, even if they insisted on calling it a "Med Bay." He ended up collapsed on a clean white bed instead. It was much more comfortable than the barricade would have been.

While most of the reinforcement team left to attend to various post-battle tasks, a handful of the uninjured stayed with the wounded to wait for the doctors to return. The wounded were sufficiently held together with remedies and the colonist's "medigel" that the wait wasn't a cause for concern. Instead, both the injured and uninjured relaxed, making small talk and joking and carefully avoiding how everyone's eyes were dark with unspoken grief for their dead.

Corvo was pleasantly surprised to find himself included in their camaraderie, but knew it was only a matter of time before someone finally mentioned the leviathan in the room.

It was one of the reinforcement team that brought it up. (From the casual conversation so far, Corvo knew their first name was Jean, they had recently lived somewhere called the Citadel, and they had once helped bring down a minor criminal organization with a houseplant and several doses of low-level hallucinogens.)

"So, I have to ask. How did you blow up a krogan and then end up halfway across the room?" Jean turned to the security officer next to her and stuck an accusing finger in his direction. "And don't you dare bring up biotics again. I've served with some asari commandos and I know what biotics look like."

Corvo couldn't help a small smile from playing on his lips as the accused officer sputtered and visibly readied himself for a rebuttal. Despite the words, there was no suspicion in Jean's voice, only friendly curiosity.

What the hell. There was no Abbey of the Everyman to arrest him for heresy here, and everything was weird enough anyway that telling the truth couldn't hurt. He interrupted the burgeoning argument with a single word.

"Magic."

There was a short silence. Then came Carter's voice, from two beds over. "I've been interviewing him for two weeks and that's the first joke I've ever heard from him."

"So he exploded a krogan with his never-before-seen dry wit?"

That got a few chuckles, which faded into a comfortable silence.

"Maybe he did," Carter said after a minute. "Maybe it was biotics. Maybe Attano has some fancy new tool we missed earlier. And maybe it really was magic." He paused for a moment to gather his thoughts. "I should care about the how. I know I should. But...I wouldn't be alive if he hadn't been doing..." He made a wiggly hand motion with his good arm and then shrugged. "Hell, none of us might be alive right now if he hadn't. So...honestly, I don't care."

There was a murmur of agreement from around the room, which faded into another comfortable silence.

Corvo knew from experience that there were few things like mortal danger to bring people together. Even so, this was a level of unquestioning acceptance he never would have found in Dunwall, with its ingrained distrust for the unknown and the unnatural. It left him grateful in a way he wasn't sure how to express in words. "Thank you" didn't quite seem to cover it.

Jean was the one that broke the silence. "...it's Corvo, right?"

He nodded his affirmative.

She eyed him and frowned. "Well, bird-man, I've got some tough news for you. You've got to get some better armor. That coat didn't do _shit_ against bullets."

Corvo surprised himself by laughing.

 

The colony's medical care turned out to be as strange and advanced as everything else, so Corvo found himself discharged from the Med Bay in less than a day. Or rather, he would have been if Security had figured out what to do with him. Few wanted to throw him back in the holding cell, but letting him wander could end badly in any number of ways and there wasn't anyone to spare in the post-battle fracas for a proper escort. Keeping him a little longer for medical observation was as good a temporary solution as any.

Corvo was not overly bothered by this. It was nice to be able to rest after the chaos, and he was content to watch the medical staff at work and listen in on conversations. It also gave Corvo plenty of time to get thoroughly lost in his omni-tool's library as he tried to find out how guns could fire without gunpowder. He still wasn't sure he understood by the time he was released.

Eventually Security was able to spare enough personnel for an escort, and Corvo was officially released to wander the colony. He got the feeling it was more so he'd have someone to explain things to him than for anyone's protection. And probably to keep him from going places he shouldn't be. He was tempted to snoop around anyway, but it wasn't worth risking the fragile trust he'd earned. All and all, it was both helpful and embarrassing.

Whatever their intended purpose, the escort quickly ended up serving another purpose: keeping him from being overwhelmed by curious visitors. Some walked right up to him and struck up a civil conversation while others preferred to unleash a bombardment of questions ranging from reasonable to ridiculous. (No, he could not turn into a dragon. Why would someone even _ask_ that.) Then there were the those that just "happened" to turn up in the same location as Corvo with convenient reasons to either interact with him or stay in his general vicinity. And some, in finest human tradition, showed up just to gawk.

While he couldn't deny that it was interesting to finally meet new people other than the small handful that had been involved with interrogations and the fight, they did present new hurdles beyond simply being overwhelmed by their numbers. There was, for example, their reaction to his ignorance of what they clearly saw as common knowledge. He didn't think they were being _intentionally_ condescending, but more often than not, they still left him feeling like an idiot child whose intellectual deficiency only served to make them more endearing. It rankled.

Then there were those that still questioned his motives and were less than happy that he had tricked the colony higher-ups into trusting him. Corvo had dealt with worse. Even if he hadn't been the subject of unpleasant rumors for most of his adult life, after being accused of treason, regicide, and everything else that had followed in the wake of Jessamine's death, the occasional colonist's distrust wasn't enough to bother him. Still, that wasn't the same as failing to recognize the tension in his escorts or the delicacy required to avoid adding fuel to that particular fire.

All things considered, Corvo missed the wide-open streets of Dunwall where a mask and a few blinks was all that was needed to disappear. The colony was just too narrow and confined for that and openly using the Mark would only cause unnecessary trouble.

Thus, despite his escort's best efforts, Corvo spent an increasing amount of time in his new private quarters. This bothered him very little. There was still plenty of research to be done and Security had been kind enough to grant his omni-tool access to a wider library of information, allowing him to delve deeper into topics that had piqued his interest before. Granted, he was skimming the surface of so many topics that he scarcely noticed the new depth, but he appreciated it all the same.

Maybe it was the result of his studies or of continuous exposure the colony's culture and technologies, but his surroundings no longer seemed quite as strange as they once had. There was still so much he didn't understand about the vast world Cyrene was a part of, but he no longer felt like he was walking in a dream where reality was malleable and liable to shift at any moment. It was a dream with aliens and interstellar travel, perhaps, but a dream with an underlying sense of logic that hadn't been there before.

There was the slight hiccup that his treacherous brain would occasionally interject that Cyrene wasn't part of a world, it was a world of its _own_ and part of an empire that spanned hundreds and hundreds of worlds and the entire Empire of Isles was laughably small in comparison and half of the things he saw every day were clearly impossible no matter what these people said and _how the hell was he on a Void-forsaken moon_. But those thoughts accomplished nothing. The faster he accepted it, the faster he could ground himself and figure out how he could use all of this impossible weirdness to get home.

It didn't stop those thought processes from running wild as he lay awake during Cyrene's artificial nights. But that was just additional motivation to work harder during the day.

Or rather, it had been until he'd been confronted by several of his regular Security regiment who threatened to have Neets deactivate his omni-tool unless he, quote,  "eat something and actually sleep a full eight hours and for _God's sake_ just ask instead of trying to figure out everything on your own."

...that had been awkward.

(On the subject of Neets, Corvo hadn't expected the technician to show up again after the attack. After all, the interrogations had stopped, so why would he keep visiting? Yet the little man had showed up outside his quarters the next day as if nothing had happened, both chess set and enthusiasm present as usual. Realizing he had a friend on this isolated moon was...nice.)

But minor roadblocks aside, he had regained a sense of logic and stability and with that came the welcome realization that he could finally lay the groundwork for his next steps. Since he had gotten here courtesy of supernatural interference, it only made sense to pursue information on the supernatural as a way back. It was simple enough in theory, but in practice, there was the issue that he had the collected mythologies of over a dozen sentient species to go through and as-of-yet unrefined methods of searching through them. Swallowing his pride and asking for assistance had helped in that regard, and though there was still a veritable mountain of information in front of him, at least he had a handful of leads to start with.

The other avenue of approach was to try to physically locate his home amongst the multitude of planets. That would be a more daunting undertaking, but Corvo had to admit that he enjoyed the challenge of puzzling out how it could be done. A question about the unfamiliar constellations outside had led to an astronomy lesson that had left him humbled by the sheer scale of forces involved but had also had led to fledgling ideas about star maps and Corvo drawing out as much of his native skies as he could remember. He still wasn't _entirely_ sure where he was going with it, but it was a start. Hell, with the Outsider involved, he didn't even know if his planet (and how strange it was to think of home as a _planet_ ) was even physically out there. For all he knew, he was in another place like the Void that was separate from conventional reality and this was an undertaking doomed to failure from the outset. But he'd be damned if he didn't try.

After weeks of research, he finally had the outline of a plan and a destination in mind. Now he just had to wait for a ship going in the right direction.

 

It was three days until the colony's newly repaired communications array picked up its first incoming vessel. Corvo had asked to be present when it landed and so he had watched, wide-eyed, as the streamlined  curves of the spaceship had entered the docking bay and come to a slow and graceful stop. He'd seen images and vids on the omni-tool, but seeing one in person? It was truly breathtaking.

_I don't think I'll be able to smuggle one of these back to Piero._ The mental image of trying to fit the sleek metal vehicle into one of his pockets had made him smile, just a little.

That little scouting vessel had been the first of a steady stream of visiting ships. Several were opportunists, merchants and mercenaries swooping in with offers of repair and protection in the wake of the attack. The bulk of the traffic seemed to be cargo ships refueling before heading deeper into the Terminus Systems. There had been a behemoth of a ship that had refilled the colony's fuel reserves.

And then there was the handful of Alliance Navy cruisers that had shown up with their shiny guns and armored plating to sweep the surrounding space for remaining pirates. That caused enough muttering for Corvo to realize how unusual it was for the Navy to show up in the lawless Terminus Systems. Apparently Cyrene's little transit station was important enough to be worth protecting. It was a welcome surprise, but it would have been better if they had decided that _before_ the pirates had attempted their raid.

(It seemed like the colony's ten casualties had been scarcely been laid to rest when the cruisers arrived.)

Perhaps it was best for everyone that the cruisers docked only long enough to top off their fuel. That meant there wasn't time for long conversations between the colonists and soldiers.

Corvo had eavesdropped anyway.

His name had come up a few times, but thank the sea and stars, it wasn't attached to pointed suspicion or detailed descriptions of what he had done during the battle. He was probably on the Alliance's radar now, though, and he didn't know what information they had exchanged over the "net". He'd been using the net itself for information for weeks, but he'd learned that it also served as a mail system that invisibly connected devices over huge distances.  Corvo was familiar with the idea of intercepting letters, reading the contents, and resealing them and sending them on their way with the recipient being none the wiser. Maybe there was a way to do that with these "transmissions"? Something to think about, certainly.

Ships had been coming and going for nearly two months when Corvo finally decided to book passage on one of the vessels.  Choosing where he was going next had been a difficult decision. He'd heard much about the Citadel, the capital of civilized space, and its promises of information and potential connections had made it a tempting choice. However, being right under the government's nose with no funds and no papers seemed like a good way to invite their interference. Although he hadn't been given a reason to distrust the Citadel Council, it would be easier to pursue his mission if he didn't have their scrutiny. A place to go once he had more resources, certainly, but not yet.

Somewhere more lawless, then, but preferably still a hub of activity. Somewhere he could buy information not available on the web and where he could start acquiring assets. Somewhere likely to have jobs that weren't too ethically unpalatable for employers that didn't ask too many questions.

That was how he ended up booking passage to the space station Omega.

Corvo had no papers and nothing to offer in terms of payment, but the smugglers of the _Charybids_ didn't give a damn about the first and the colony had covered the second as thanks for his help during the attack. As for the character of the crew, the Heart had told him enough that he wasn't concerned about them slitting his throat the moment they were out of port. It was as good of an opportunity as he was likely to get.

Preparing to leave was surprisingly bittersweet. One of the first things he had been given on Cyrene was a set of clothing in the colony's style, and it was this he was wearing as he packed his few other belongings. It was better for blending in. Besides, Jean was right that his Lord Protector's garb offered pathetic protection against anything he was going to run up against. That logic didn't stop the pang of homesickness  when the neatly folded bundle of navy fabric went into the bag, a pang which only sharpened when the smooth plastic of a datapad went in on top of it. He spent several long seconds standing over the open bag, staring at the two items in melancholy silence, before he closed the bag with a small sigh.

Right then. Inventory: everything he had brought from Dunwall minus the elixirs, most of the remedies, and a few grenades. One spare set of clothing. One omni-tool and one data-pad. One credit chit, enough for about a week's expenses if he was frugal (or so he had been told.) And, surprisingly, one shotgun he'd last used to blast the head off a krogan. He hadn't expected to see it again after the attack, but a few Security officers insisted he be properly armed if he was going to Omega and he wasn't going to argue. (He _liked_ that gun.) Its unfamiliar weight on his back was comforting as he shouldered his bag. Between the gun and the hidden folding blade, he was armed again for the first time in weeks and it felt _right._

A handful of people were waiting to see him off in the docking bay. The familiar faces in Security uniforms and the slight figure of Neets, he expected. The handful of men and women Corvo vaguely recognized as colony higher-ups, less so.

Corvo had risen to the rank of Royal Protector for his skills with blade and pistol and his unwavering devotion to the Kaldwin dynasty. Familiarity with political niceties had not been a prerequisite. _That_ he'd picked up by necessity when he found himself moving in the same social circles as dukes and diplomats. He found himself recalling those hard-earned lessons when the colony representatives approached him to bid him farewell. It was far from an exact match, but there was something in their tone and words that took him back to towers and ballrooms. There was certainly no misreading the "please get off our colony and take your weirdness with you" behind several of their polite statesman's smiles.

It would seem that politics, like chess, was the same everywhere.

In contrast, his goodbyes to his acquaintances recalled barracks and sweat and steel.

"Remember, armor," Jean told him firmly.

"Or, you know, he could try staying out of dangerous situations," Neets chimed in unhelpfully. "I'm told that there are people who can live their entire lives without being shot once. Like real estate agents. And gourmet chefs." He took in the less-than-impressed looks from the surrounding company. "What? He'd look fantastic in a chef's hat."

Corvo had no idea what type of hat he was talking about, but judging from the way Carter was poorly disguising his laughter with a coughing fit, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Jean's expression hadn't even wavered. "Hahne-Kedar if you can get it, but Aldrin's your best bet otherwise."

Corvo shot a sideways glance at Neets, who was continuing to list off relatively safe jobs while everyone else steadfastly ignored him, then looked back at Jean with a questioning eyebrow.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't give me that. We both know you're not going to go become a medical researcher or something. I'm just saying not to be an idiot about it."

Corvo's smile was wry and more than a little rueful. He honestly hadn't considered supporting himself in some way that _didn't_ involve his unique skillset. Of course it would be obvious to a fellow soldier.

It took a moment for him to realize that Neets' rambling was no longer part of the background noise. A quick look showed that the technician had indeed gone quiet for once, his face uncharacteristically pensive. When he spoke again, it was with none of the levity of a minute ago. "...be careful, alright? I've heard stories about Omega."

That was why he was going there, but it wouldn't be reassuring to mention that. Instead, he went with, "I will."

"And if you ever make it back to the Idmon System, remember that we have a chess game to finish."

Corvo's brow furrowed as he thought back to their most recent match. "...we finished that last game." He remembered that quite clearly - he'd narrowly snatched a win after what had felt like hours of being in check.

"Well, we have to start the game as well." Neets shrugged. "But details."

He missed so many things about home. The pale blue glow of whale-oil lanterns, the salt smell of the ocean, the presence of his daughter, safe and sound and no doubt coming up with yet another joke about some boring element  of statecraft that would scandalize the high society of Dunwall. Their absence was a constant ache in his chest. In a way, these light conversations and little games felt like an insult to home, like not spending every waking moment hyper-focused on the goal of returning was a betrayal of everything he had known.

But, he had to admit as he bid his farewells, the camaraderie was a balm against the worst of it.

The _Charybdis_ loomed before him, its red and black painted exterior chipped and battered. How many trips through the stars had it seen? Was he really about to embark on its next voyage, to be aboard a vessel cutting through space as easily as a skiff through water? The very idea filled him with a familiar combination of fear and exhilaration. It was freezing time and seeing the bullet hovering between his eyes, the blink that took him out of sight not a second too soon, the cold tingling on his left hand every time he threw mortal limitations to the wind. Combined with the knowledge that the trip was necessary to see Emily again, it was a familiar rush indeed.

So what did the future hold for him? Spaceflight loomed large in his mind, but that was only a means to get to Omega. After that...? He'd be stranded in an unfriendly and unfamiliar city with no contacts, no safehouses, and limited resources, not to mention surrounded on all sides by all manner of unsavory individuals that would quickly peg him as an outsider and thus an easy target.

It would be one man against the world.

It wouldn't be the first time.

So the Outsider wanted some excitement, did he? Corvo had balked at the idea of kowtowing to the deity's whims even before he'd been forcibly kidnapped and transported Void-knows-where. Yet as he boarded the ship, heading further into the unknown, he had the strange feeling he wouldn't disappoint.


End file.
